I like to say that the sun and I share similar sleep schedules, meaning that if she’s not up, then neither am I. But there are exceptions to this pattern, and sometimes I get up before she does. This is always the case when I venture out to West Texas with my family each summer for the annual Bloys Campmeeting, an ecumenical fellowship of folks who have been meeting in these mountains since the late 19th century. I have a deep love for a particular mountain that watches over the campgrounds, as I have been climbing it before I could walk. (May my father forgive me for sharing the picture below.)
A lifelong friend, who shares a cabin next to mine, joins me each year on these early morning hikes. As we’ve grown older, I cherish the conversations that weave between our footsteps as we contemplate which direction to take through the ancient boulders and mesquite trees that pepper the Davis Mountains. Over three decades ago our grandparents, who were friends in San Angelo, decided to begin the tradition of attending the Bloys campmeeting, and my friend and I get to continue their legacy through our shared relationship.
Last week in the mountains, I was grateful for the rain which kept the dust out of our eyes, and the air cool. I would wake up before the sun and stare out the window at those desert stars that shone like freckles on the face of God. I tried my best to sneak through the squeaky screen door to not wake my family and welcomed the crunch of the rocky ground beneath my feet. Breakfast was served under a cookshed with long wooden benches, tin plates, and open fires with cast iron coffee boilers. My friend and I shared our usual groggy nods of acknowledgement while waiting for eggs with a spoonful of chow chow.
“You want pancakes?” the man behind the griddle says to me.
“No, thank you.”
He puts two on my plate.
The light is dim, and the air is cool as we eat our breakfast. Soon we begin walking down a winding path of cabins and trees until we reach the base of the mountain. As we start to climb, we catch our breath and chat about theology, justice, books, and tattoos until one of us stops the other in complete wonder at what the mountain has for us today. A skunk runs past a tree, a blooming cactus blushes behind a rock, a snake lowers its head to blend in, and a walking stick steps leisurely by. We talk, we listen, we stop, we notice, until we reach the peak and say nothing for a little while. The sun is awake, and she looks so beautiful stretching her arms out over the mountains where she had been resting not long before.
Sometimes it just feels like God is showing off, if only we take the time to notice.
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